Friday night at the club

It’s a mild Friday night in June. The air outside is warm and a little sticky. Your phone lights up with a call from Larry.

“Yo, you free tonight? Me, Bella and a couple others are heading to this rock club. Don’t be boring, come through.”

After some convincing, you agree.

When you arrive, the club sits in an old brick building with blacked-out windows and a glowing red neon sign above the door that flickers every few seconds. The bass from inside already vibrates through the pavement. Larry is waiting out front, cigarette between his fingers, the smoke mixing with the faint smell of spilled beer and exhaust from the street. He takes one last drag, then stubs it out under his heel and grins when he sees you.

“There you are. C’mon."

About time. Hope they’re not too weird around new people.

He pushes the heavy door open and leads you inside. The air hits you immediately — warm, thick, and heavy with the scent of sweat, cheap perfume, old beer, and something faintly metallic from the stage equipment. Dim red and purple lights cut through the haze of smoke hanging near the ceiling. The floor is sticky under your shoes. Posters of local bands peel off the walls, and a small stage at the far end is still being cleared from the last set. The crowd is already dense, bodies moving, shouting over the music.

Bella is standing near the edge of the dance floor. She lights up when she spots you and gives a small wave.

Oh good, they actually came. I was worried Larry was just going to drag me around alone again.

Larry throws an arm around your shoulder and walks you over through the press of people.

“Bella you already know. These two are new though.”

He points first at the tall, quiet guy leaning against a pillar.

“That’s Timo. He drums in my band.”

Please don’t be in one of your creepy silent moods tonight, man.

Then at the red-haired girl beside him. “And that’s Ivy. Bella’s best friend.”

She’s gonna eat them alive if they say something stupid. This should be fun.

Ivy gives you a slow once-over, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

New face. Not bad. Let’s see if they can keep up.

Timo just nods once, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than necessary before he looks away.

Another one Larry dragged in. Whatever.

Larry claps his hands together over the noise. “Alright, drinks. Let’s go.”

The five of you push through the crowd toward the long, scratched-up wooden bar. Condensation drips down the sides of glasses. The bartender, a tattooed guy in a black tank top, leans forward and looks straight at you.

“What can I get you?”

The gig started at nine, and by the time you get to the club the place is already packed. BASIL is halfway through their set — Larry hunched over his bass near the edge of the small stage, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, grinning out at the crowd between songs.

The neon lights flicker red and purple across the room, catching on vape smoke drifting near the ceiling. You promised him you'd show up, and judging by the way he spots you and jerks his chin toward the bar, he clearly remembered.

Bella is already there, swaying slightly to the music with a drink in hand. Beside her stands a girl you don't recognize — tall, red hair catching the stage lights, watching the band with an expression somewhere between bored and appraising.

Bella brightens when she sees you and waves you over. "You made it! Come here, come here."

Good, I really didn't want to be the only one not into loud music tonight.

The red-haired girl glances you over once, unhurried, then smirks.

"So you're the mystery person Bella's been talking about all week."

New face. Let's see if they've got anything interesting going on.

Bella gestures between you two.

"Oh — right, you two haven't met. This is Ivy, my best friend since forever."

Ivy raises her cup in a mock toast.

"Nice to finally put a face to the name."

Your eyes drift past them to the stage, where the drummer is impossible to miss — tall, folded almost too neatly behind the kit, dark wavy hair damp at the temples, sticks moving with a controlled, almost lazy precision that doesn't match the noise he's producing. Even sitting down he looks like he'd tower over the rest of the band standing.

Bella follows your gaze and leans in, raising her voice over the music.

"That's Timo. He's, uh — actually works IT support with Larry, same call center. Kind of hard to picture when he's up there, right?"

He always looks so different on stage. Almost forget he spends his days resetting people's passwords.

Ivy glances over her shoulder at the stage, unbothered.

"I've got a thing for drummers, not gonna lie. Used to be a groupie for a punk band back in the day."

God, those were the days. Miss that chaos sometimes.

She takes a sip of her drink, smirking at the memory.

"Never slept with any of them — age difference and all that. But I definitely made out with the drummer more than once."

If they think that's scandalous, wait till they get to know me better.

Bella nudges your arm gently, leaning in so she doesn't have to shout as loud.

"Hey — would you come to the bathroom with me? It's so packed in here and I really don't want to go alone."

Please say yes. I don't want Ivy to have to babysit me again tonight.

Ivy raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and Bella, clearly amused.

"Don't worry, I'll hold your spot. Try not to get lost in there."

The music thumps on, Larry's bassline cutting through the noise from the stage, Timo's drumming steady underneath it. Bella looks at you expectantly, waiting.

Do you go with her, or stay back with Ivy and watch the rest of the set?

The shots line up along the sticky bar top — five glasses, a small plate of lime wedges, salt already crusting the back of your hand where Larry insisted on doing it "properly." The bartender slides them over without a word, used to this crowd by now. Bella squeals and downs hers first, wincing hard, shaking her head so fast her hair sticks to her lip gloss.

"Ugh — okay, that one hit different."

Whoa, room's a little tilty. Good tilty though.

A couple more rounds in and Bella's laughing at everything — the music, a stranger's shoes, nothing in particular — swaying more than actually dancing, one hand gripping Ivy's arm to stay upright. The club's heat has crept into everyone by now, sweat and cheap perfume and spilled beer thick in the air, the bass line rattling up through the floor and into your chest.

Larry's arm keeps finding its way around someone's waist — yours, Bella's, whoever's closest — his hand lingering a beat too long every time, fingers pressing in just slightly more than friendly.

Fuck, this crowd's got me all wound up tonight. So many good options tonight.

Ivy watches him over the rim of her cup, eyes narrowing with every pass of his hand.

"Larry. Personal space. Try it sometime."

If he touches her one more time I swear to god-

Larry just grins wider and doesn't move his arm an inch. Ivy's mouth curls into something sharper than a smile. Without any warning, she grabs Bella by the waist, pulls her flush against her, and kisses her — slow, deliberate, tongue and all, one hand sliding up into blonde hair to tilt her head just right. It's not a show kiss. It's the real thing, and everyone within ten feet knows it.

Let's see how you like watching instead of touching.

Bella makes a small startled sound against Ivy's mouth before her whole body softens into it, fingers curling into the front of Ivy's shirt, going up on her toes to meet her. A few heads on the dance floor turn. Someone nearby actually stops dancing to stare.

Larry's mouth drops open, drink forgotten halfway to his lips, eyes wide and a little glassy.

Fuck. What I wouldn't give to be in between those two right now. Okay — I need air. Or a distraction. Wasn't there a girl by the bar earlier? The one who winked at me?

He mutters something none of you catch and backs away, weaving off through the press of bodies toward the bar without looking back.

Timo hasn't moved from his spot near the pillar this whole time. Arms crossed, drink untouched, he watches with none of the open gawking of everyone else — no dropped jaw, no elbowing a friend. Just a slow, deliberate study, like he's cataloguing something. When Ivy and Bella finally break apart, breathless, lips swollen, he pushes off the pillar and steps closer, voice dropping low enough that it's meant only for the three of you.

"Why are the pretty and wild ones always lesbians?"

Predictable question. But worth confirming out loud.

Ivy laughs, low and a little breathless, wiping her thumb at the corner of her mouth where Bella's lip gloss smeared.

"Oh, I'm not. Girls are just better kissers than guys."

There. Chew on that for a while.

Bella sways where she stands, fanning herself with one hand, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the kiss.

"I need — air. I need air, I'm going outside."

She stumbles off toward the door, bumping a shoulder into a stranger who doesn't even seem to notice, disappearing into the crowd before anyone can grab her.

Your own bladder makes its priorities known right about then, and you head off toward the washroom. The washroom door is heavier than it looks, the music dulling slightly once it swings shut behind you. Just when you finished your business you notice a very different, very unmistakable set of sounds coming from the last stall.

A glance you immediately regret confirms it: Larry, jeans around his ankles, some girl you don't recognize pressed hard against the stall wall, both of them extremely occupied. You beat a fast retreat, ears burning.

Back out on the floor, there's no sign of Ivy or Timo anywhere near where you left them. Bella's found a spot leaning against the wall near the entrance, looking pale, one hand pressed flat against the brick like it's the only thing keeping her upright.

"Hey — where'd everyone go?"

Bella blinks slowly, taking a second too long to process the question, then points a wobbly finger toward a dim corner near the back of the club.

"Over there... I think."

Following her finger through the haze of smoke and shifting bodies, you spot them — Ivy and Timo, wrapped around each other in the shadows, in a way that makes everything you just saw in the bathroom look almost tame by comparison.

Bella groans beside you, swaying harder now, one hand pressed to her stomach.

"I don't feel so good..."

Larry reappears a few minutes later, hair a complete disaster, shirt half untucked, grinning like nothing at all happened.

"So... what'd I miss?"

The corner booth is the quietest spot left in the club — worn leather couches, a low table crowded with empty shot glasses and half-melted ice.

The music's still loud, but out here it's more of a heartbeat than a wall of sound. Larry drops down first, sprawling like he owns the place, setting his drink down on the table in front of him.

"Okay, okay — truth or dare. Come on, don't tell me none of you have played."

This is exactly what tonight needs. More chaos.

Bella groans, curling her legs up under her on the couch, still a little unsteady from the tequila.

"Larry, we're not teenagers anymore."

Please, anything but this. I always end up doing something embarrassing.

Ivy drops down next to her, already smirking, swirling what's left of her drink.

"Speak for yourself. I never say no to a good dare."

Let's see who chickens out first. My money's on Bella.

Timo folds himself onto the arm of the couch, unreadable as always.

"I'm in. Could get interesting."

A game like this always shows what people are really after. Worth watching who folds and who doesn't.

All eyes land on you next. Larry grins, already sensing a win.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging. You're in, right?"

If they say no I'm dragging them in anyway.

Bella looks at you, half-pleading, half-resigned, like she already knows how this goes. Ivy just raises an eyebrow, waiting. Timo says nothing, but he's watching for your answer too.

After a beat — and more than a little pushing from Larry — you cave.

"Fine. Fine, I'm in."

Larry pumps a fist like he's just won something. "Hell yes. Okay, since you're new — you go first. Truth or dare?"

Let's break them in easy. Or not.

Larry's grin turns downright evil, already leaning forward with an idea clearly forming.

"Alright — dare. You've gotta go up to the bar, order the weirdest, most ridiculous-sounding drink you can think of, straight face, no laughing, and convince the bartender it's a real thing."

This is going to be so good.

Bella claps a hand over her mouth, already giggling despite herself. Ivy leans back, thoroughly entertained, and even Timo's mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile.

Do you go through with it, or try to talk your way out?